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Parashat Vayera tells of Avraham's migration after the destruction of the city of Sedom. Upon his arrival in the Philistine city of Gerar, Avraham and Sara disguise as brother and sister, and the king, Avimelekh, abducts Sara. After God appears to the king in a dream and threatens to kill him for his having taken a married woman, Avimelekh pleads for his life and, in the morning, quickly returns Sara and begs Avraham for forgiveness. He asks Avraham why he misled the local population into thinking that Sara was his sister, rather than his wife. Avraham replies, "For I thought that surely there is no fear of God in this place, and they will kill me because of my wife" (20:11). Why would the lack of "fear of God" - "yirat Elokim" - prompt the people of Gerar to kill Avraham in order to take his wife?

Rashi here comments: "When a guest comes to a city - do the people ask him about matters of eating and drinking, or do they ask him about his wife… !?" Apparently, "yirat Elokim" in this context refers to basic manners and dignified conduct. From the beginning, Avraham detected a lack of common decency, which led him to suspect trouble.

Several Midrashim, however, seem to point us in a different direction. The Yalkut Shimoni (58,57) notes the seemingly superfluous word, "rak" in Avraham's response to Avimelekh. (In our translated citation above, we used the Jewish Publication Society's translation of the word as "surely"). As in many other instances, Chazal here felt that this word limits the implication of the clause it introduces. Hence, here Avraham indicates that the people of Gerar were not entirely lacking in yirat Shamayim. Rather, "Before they heard with their own ears, they did not fear; once they heard with their ears, they did fear." Apparently, these people did, in fact, have an inner religious conscience, only one that did not surface until they actually heard of Avimelekh's prophetic warning. An even more significant mitigation of their lack of yirat Shamayim is mentioned in the Midrash Ha-gadol, which writes that they possessed a small degree of fear. Whereas Rashi appears to suggest that the people of Gerar fell short of even the very basic standards of decency, these Midrashim - certainly the second passage cited - claim that they did, in fact, possess some degree of yirat Elokim. How are we to understand this "in between" state, and how did this shortcoming trigger Sara's abduction?

The Malbim explains the moral flaw of Gerar by drawing a clear distinction between two types of morality: that followed as a result of logic and reason, and that which acknowledges the existence of a divine creed. The Malbim claims that the city of Gerar had legislation and a strict and fair legal code (as opposed to the recently destroyed city of Sedom, which, according to many, was thoroughly unethical even at the legislative and legal level). However, Avraham noted that the observance of these laws was not accompanied by a sense of fear of God. The government deemed this legislation necessary as a means of maintaining a sense of law and order in the municipality. However, when these laws are observed only to ensure a stable society, rather than with a sense of obedience to God's will, then one who desires to break the law can - and, in many instances, will - find a way to do so. Avraham therefore could not trust the populace or government of Gerar, and was concerned that they would kill him in order to abduct his wife.

While moral and ethical behavior has immense value regardless of its underlying motive, it cannot withstand the temptations and drives endemic to the human existence as well as genuine yirat Shamayim can. Knowing that our laws originate from the Almighty Himself eliminates the lure that arises when no one sees or can find out. God hears and sees everything that we do; once we develop this yirat Shamayim awareness, we are far more likely to strictly adhere to His commandments: "Consider three things, and you will not come to sin: know what is above you - an eye that sees, an ear that listens, and that all your deeds are inscribed in the book" (Pirkei Avot).

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As we know, Chazal instituted the weekly reading of the "haftara," a selected reading from the Prophets that corresponds to the week's Torah reading. Generally, the relationship between the Torah reading and the haftara is obvious, though in some instances it is less clear or somewhat tenuous. The haftara for Parashat Vayera (taken from Melakhim II 4:1-37) appears to fall into the first category of haftarot, those with a self-evident connection to the corresponding Torah portion. The birth of a son by the heretofore infertile Shunamite woman quite clearly parallels the highlight of Parashat Vayera, the miraculous birth of Yitzchak to his elderly parents. However, the common practice we follow is to begin this lengthy haftara with the briefer, preceding story about the destitute woman whose creditor prepares to take her sons as slaves since she cannot make her payments. The prophet Elisha miraculously has her tiny oil stock multiply, allowing her to sell the oil and pay her debts. Of what relevance is this story to Parashat Vayera?

It has been suggested that our reading of this story this Shabbat focuses not on the miracle per se, but rather on the insensitive, heartless creditor who has no compassion for the poor widow. He knows that she has no husband - which in ancient times usually meant no means of support - and has only her sons. Losing them would mean losing everything she had in the world. Yet, he refuses to bend and forego - even temporarily - on the money owed to him. He follows the strict letter of the law, rather than exercising a degree of compassion and flexibility towards an impoverished widow.

This conduct directly corresponds to another prominent feature of Parashat Vayera: the destruction of Sedom. Many commentators ask why specifically this city deserved annihilation, while many other societies were also plagued by corruption. The Maharal explains that Sedom's sin lay in their unwavering adherence to strict legality and refusal to bend. The mishna in Pirkei Avot attribute to Sedom the ideology of, "What's mine is mine, and what's yours is yours." They exhibited absolute heartlessness towards the needy, adamantly advocating the rights of each individual to his own money, to the point where sharing was seen as inappropriate and worthy of condemnation. Therefore, God, too, acted towards them with similar inflexibility, denying them access to the divine attribute of mercy. Rabbeinu Bechayei explains along similar lines, noting that no other nation in the world frowns upon charitable causes, sharing one's wealth with others. The story of the poor woman thus brings to mind the sad story of Sedom, the corrosive effects of overly exacting application of the law, such that it leaves no room for mercy and compassion.

Just as the story of Sedom appears in contradistinction to the hospitality and kindness of Avraham Avinu, so does the first half of the haftara stand in contrast with the second story - the Shunamite woman. She and her husband provide lodging and hospitality for the prophet Elisha, on account of which they earned the miraculous birth of their son. Both the parasha and the haftara, then, underscore the stark contrast between the value of "chesed," sensitivity and loving kindness to others, and the quality of Sedom, whereby strict law overrides basic human compassion and consideration.

(Based in part on an article by Rav Amnon Bazak of Yeshivat Har Etzion)

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Two days ago, we saw the Malbim's understanding of the city of Gerar, specifically Avraham's intent when he described the place as bereft of "yirat Elokim" (fear of God - 20:11). The Malbim argued that Gerar had enacted fair and just legislation protecting people's individual rights, but this done for practical, rather than strictly et, concerns. People did not refrain from harming others because of fear of Heaven, out of a sense of loyalty to God's law. They rather did so only for the general welfare of society.

If, indeed, we interpret the lack of yirat Shamayim in Gerar along these lines, then we may gain a deeper insight into the final major event of our parasha, "akeidat Yitzchak" (the binding of Yitzchak). The angel appears to stop Avraham just as he prepared to slaughter his son, and declares, "For now I know that your fear God, since you have not withheld your son, your favored one, from Me" (22:12). Apparently, the akeida demonstrated Avraham's "yirat Elokim." Based on the aforementioned comments of the Malbim, we can perhaps better appreciate the significance of this test. Avraham had already proven himself a moral, ethical man who shows sensitivity and compassion for others. When a quarrel erupts between his and his nephew's shepherds, he generously offers Lot the choice of where to settle in order to end the dispute. He then risks his life on Lot's behalf after the latter is taken captive by the powerful army of the four kings. His hospitality to the three strangers is described in unusual detail by the Torah, evidently so as to emphasize his enthusiastic kindness. He pleads on behalf of the corrupt city of Sedom, reflecting his sincere concern for righteous and wicked alike. The Midrashim elaborate even further, portraying Avraham as the "pillar of kindness," representing the ideal of human compassion.

The akeida reveals the underpinnings of that sensitivity: "yirat Elokim." Avraham treats people respectfully and kindly because that is the will of God; for this reason He created the world - "the world is built on kindness." The moment God issues a command that appears to contradict these ideals, Avraham resists his natural tendencies and values in absolute subservience to the Almighty. Not that this was easy; as the Rosh Yeshiva, Rav Amital, has stressed many times, the Midrashim depict the akeida as a grueling experience, during which Avraham wrestled with major issues and suffered terrible grief and anguish. In the end, however, he submitted everything - including his moral and ethical instincts - to God's will.

Avraham thus proves that his ethic was a religious ethic, one that evolved out of a desire to fulfill God's commands. His compassion, sensitivity, love and universal, genuine concern for every other human being arose from a profound sense of "yirat Elokim," a feeling of awe and reverence for his Creator.

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The Rambam, in his Moreh Nevukhim, addresses the purpose of the final incident recorded in Parashat Vayera, "akeidat Yitzchak" (the binding of Yitzchak). He explains that Avraham's preparedness to sacrifice his son to fulfill the divine command demonstrates just how far one's love and devotion to the Almighty must extend; regardless of what He commands, we must obey. Secondly, the akeida proves the authenticity of prophecy, how clearly a prophet hears and comprehends the word of God. Only a prophet with no doubts whatsoever as to the origin and content of his prophecy would be willing to sacrifice his son after having been promised that this son will establish a great nation.

The Rosh Yeshiva, Rav Yehuda Amital shlit"a, elaborated further on the first issue, in his address to the yeshiva on the second day of Rosh Hashanah 5762. He noted that the Rambam actually views the akeida as demonstrating this required extent of devotion "to the entire world." This message of unlimited commitment is intended not only for Avraham's progeny, but in fact for mankind at large. Why, asked Rav Amital, should this be so? After all, halakha clearly limits the obligation of "kiddush Hashem," to submit oneself to death rather than worship idols (or commit adultery or murder) to Benei Yisrael. Other peoples are under no obligation to bring upon themselves death in sanctification of God's Name. Of what relevance, then, is the story of "akeidat Yitzchak" to them?

Rav Amital answered that the akeida put to test not only Avraham as an individual, but his entire ideology of monotheism. Avraham's conflict with the pagan world involved the critical question of whether man can acknowledge a divine force with no physical attributes. The idolaters, who worshipped the celestial beings and manmade statues, simply could not conceive of any authority outside the worldly context in which they lived. Avraham argued that the world is governed by an entirely spiritually Being, who Himself created and continues to rule the physical universe. He denounced his contemporaries' denial of any spiritual force beyond the narrow confines of the physical world.

The akeida asked the basic question: how far can man go in obeying a God to whom he cannot relate through any physical means? Is it possible for man to make the supreme sacrifice for a God that he cannot see, hear or touch? Herein lies the universal meaning of the akeida to which the Rambam alluded. Avraham here demonstrates that man can and must transcend his limited, physical reality to serve a spiritual God.

The Rosh Yeshiva added a particularly meaningful point related to this analysis. In all his years studying the Midrashim concerning the akeida, one concept he never encountered in this context: the world to come. Chazal record several conversations between Avraham and Yitzchak as they headed towards the mountain, as well as soliloquies by Avraham, reflecting what went through their minds as they prepared for the akeida. Nowhere do we find them comforting themselves with the notion of a glorious, pleasurable existence in the world to come that far exceeds the gratification in this world. Instead, they were reassured by the commitment to God, the unparalleled privilege of obeying His word. Rav Amital continued by contrasting this attitude and that of fundamental Islam, which, though technically monotheistic, cannot recognize a purely spiritually existence. The followers of this theology envision the world to come as the freedom and ability to release all of one's body's energies and indulge in limitless, physical pleasure. Unable to extricate themselves from the confines of our physical reality, they imagine the next world as an extreme, physical experience. When it is this destiny for which they yearn and that they view as ideal, small wonder that they can commit all types of atrocities in God's Name, Heaven forbid. Our tradition works in the opposite direction: the world to come is a complete spiritual existence, allowing us the freedom to experience God unencumbered by the constraints imposed by our physicality. Since this is our ideal, we spend our lives bringing an element of that spirituality into our worldly existence on earth. Avraham and Yitzchak emphasized their obeying God's will, rather than the world to come, because two essentially amount to the same thing: the world to come is where we can most freely serve the Almighty. Therefore, rather than turning the next world into an extreme physical existence, we strive to turn this world into a more spiritual existence.

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The morning after the destruction of Sedom, Avraham Avinu "arose early in the morning [and went] to the place where he had stood before God" (19:27). He returns to the same spot where he had beseeched God to spare the iniquitous city, only this time he can only stand silently as he sees the pillar of smoke rising from the ruins. The Gemara in Masekhet Berakhot (26b) derives from this verse that Avraham Avinu instituted the shacharit (morning) prayer service, as the verb "a.m.d." (standing) denotes prayer.

While clearly the "prayer" spoken of here refers to Avraham's petition on behalf of Sedom, it is worthwhile to note that the Gemara derives this prayer service from a verse describing the situation the following day. Meaning, we learn of Avraham's having established the morning prayer from the Torah's retrospective account of this prayer, when Avraham sees that his request was not granted. This perhaps teaches us a critical lessonabout prayer: its significance and meaning stand independent of the attainment of the desired resul. We do not gage the "effectiveness" of prayer by whether or not God grants our wishes. The communion itself is of critical importance to the penitent and inherently valuable, regardless of its outcome.

This may help explain another Gemara in Berakhot (6b) related to the very same verse. The Gemara posits that one who establishes for himself a permanent place for his prayers ("kovei'a makom") earns the assistance of "the God of Avraham." Based on the verse cited earlier, the Gemara deduces that Avraham, who returned to the "place where he had stood before God," designated a specific location for prayer. What is the significance of this halakha?

This perhaps depends on the scope of this requirement's applicability. According to the Talmidei Rabbeinu Yona, the obligation to designate a spot for one's prayer applies only outside the synagogue setting. Rather than spontaneously opening the service, a person must demonstrate respect for prayer by formally designating the location as a place where he will conduct his tefila. The Rosh, however, disagrees, maintaining that even within the Bet Kenesset one must have a permanent seat. Why? Does this halakha intend merely to help ensure decorum and a greater sense of law and order in the synagogue?

The example of Avraham Avinu in our parasha perhaps provides the answer. Establishing a permanent seat for one's prayer may point to a sense of consistency that must characterize one's attitude towards tefila. One must approach the Almighty with the same feeling of submission and humility each and every day. Avraham returned to the same spot, he came before God just as he had the previous day, despite his having seen the cloud of smoke testifying to Sedom's destruction. Even when things do not unfold as one had wished, even when God appears to "reject" (Heaven forbid!!) one's prayers, he must nevertheless stand before Him in the same place, with the same mindset, just as Avraham does in Parashat Vayera. We learn of Avraham's institution of shacharit specifically when he returns to God after Sedom's destruction, teaching us that even when we don't get our way, we return the very next day to the very same spot where we stood when submitting our request.

Judaism does not restrict itself to a given time frame, given circumstances, a given mood, or any specific conditions. It binds a person every day of his life and demands obedience even when one simply "does not feel like it" or "is not in the mood." Even in the face of difficulty and challenge, we stand before the Almighty three times a day in sincere, heartfelt prayer, recognizing the great privilege we have of speaking with our Creator.

(Based on an article by Rav Yair Kahn of Yeshivat Har Etzion)

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Parashat Vayera opens with the famous story of the three mysterious men - who turn out to be angels - who pass by Avraham's tent while God appeared to him. Avraham interrupts his "meeting" with the Almighty to invite the travelers into his tent and serve them a meal. From here Chazal deduce that greeting guests overrides greeting the Shekhina (God's presence).

Much can be said about this principle per se (in a S.A.L.T. devar Torah several years ago we elaborated on the significance of this axiom), but Avraham's behavior in this regard reveals a somewhat more subtle characteristic. We do not know what it is like to have God reveal Himself to someone; we have no way of understanding what such an experience entails. Nevertheless, we can imagine that the individual fortunate enough to experience divine revelation is intensely focused on this spiritual encounter and, at least for those moments, is far removed from the routine, physical drives that generally govern our day-to-day conduct. Consider, for example, the case of Moshe Rabbeinu, who refrained from food and drink throughout his forty-day session atop Mount Sinai. The total concentration on the spiritual experience at hand diverts one's attention almost entirely from the mundane.

If so, then the story with which our parasha opens reveals something remarkable about Avraham Avinu. Not only did he understand that offering hospitality takes precedence over prophetic communion with God, but he also understood the basic needs of three weary travelers walking in the summer heat: "Let a little water be brought; wash your feet and recline under the tree. And let me fetch a morsel of bread that you may refresh yourselves.. " (18:4-5). He even gave his wife the recipe: "Quick, three 'se'a' of choice flour - knead and bake cakes!" (18:6). Just minutes after a prophetic revelation, where Avraham is entirely engrossed in a spiritual experience, he can immediately turn his attention to the physical, mundane needs of his visitors.

In a similar vein, Rabbi Yitzchak Blazer, the renowned student of Rav Yisrael Salanter, wrote about his rebbe's insistent refusal to accept any honor. Despite his aversion towards accolades and spotlight fame, however, he was equally as insistent on bestowing honor upon others. The fact that he personally had no need for demonstrations of honor and felt content going about his business without notoriety had no effect on his treatment of others. Rav Yisrael never projected his own personality on those around him; he concentrated on the needs of other people and worked hard to fill those needs. Likewise, Avraham Avinu's mindset was, at that moment, far removed from the issues of bathing, eating, drinking, and sitting in comfortable shade. Yet, he put aside this mindset in order to probe the mind of the wayfarers and understand what they needed. (Based on a summary of a talk by Rav Avraham Pam zt"l)

Shortly after I decided to write this devar Torah, I opened a fortune cookie and read the following adage: "There is no greater wisdom than kindness." While I generally do not invest too much time or mental energy in Chinese proverbs, I could not help but note the connection between this saying and the devar Torah in my head. True kindness demands profound wisdom and insight, the ability to look beyond the limited scope of one's own condition and appreciate the needs - even when they appear superfluous or idiosyncratic - of those around him. What one personally deems unimportant and inconsequential may be viewed as essential to someone else. Certainly, one must draw the line somewhere; a person cannot possibly expect or be expected to satisfy the irrational demands of everyone with whom he comes in contact. Common sense and genuine sensitivity must work hand-in-hand when dealing with other people.

Later in the parasha we read of perhaps an example of an effort at kindness with potentially disastrous results for the intended beneficiaries. The two angels arrive in Sedom and Lot invites them into his home. When they refuse, preferring instead to sleep in the street, Lot insists until they follow him home. Interestingly enough, the Torah never records their verbal consent; rather, "He urged them strongly, so they turned his way and entered his house" (19:3; contrast with 18:5). We may perhaps understand that even after Lot's insistence, the angels were not interested in lodging in his home. It is possible that they understood full well the city's enmity towards strangers and feared the fate of all three people involved should they accept Lot's invitation. Sure enough, even before they went to sleep the entire population assembled and threatened them. Lot, however, who is often criticized by Chazal for numerous reasons, may have felt he knew better than they as to where they should spend the night.

The episode in Sedom thus complements the account of Avraham at the parasha's outset in teaching the art of kindness. Both show the importance of leaving aside one's own mindset and preconceived notions in an attempt to identify and respect the particular needs of others.

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Before revealing to Avraham His intention to destroy Sedom, the Almighty has this to say about the patriarch: "For I know of him, that he will instruct his children and his pto keep the way of God… " (18:19). What exactly is the "way of God" ("derekh Hashem") that Avraham taught his posterity?

The Rambam, towards the enof the first chapter of Hilkhot Dei'ot, identifies this "way" as the famous "golden mean" established there by the Rambam as the ideal path to follow. In that chapter, the Rambam describes the mode of conduct that one must maintain, one characterized by moderation. One should not grow angry easily, but neither should he respond with lifeless passivity to every insult; one should not withhold his money from the needy, but he mustn't give away all his money, either. Although overindulgence in physical delights is undesirable, exaggerated abstinence is discouraged, and so on. This path of moderation, claims the Rambam, marks the legacy of Avraham Avinu.

How should we understand this "golden mean" of the Rambam? It is commonly understood that one must always act mildly and temperately. No matter what the situation, a person mustn't steer too far to any extreme; he must rather adopt a moderate approach towards any and every circumstance.

Rav Soloveitchik zt"l, however, is cited as explaining otherwise. Moderation is not the solution to every problem, nor is it the appropriate response to every situation. The golden mean must govern a person's general approach to life, rather than dictate his conduct under all circumstances. The Rambam bids us to use sound judgment and reason when deciding how to act, rather than maintaining a consistent pattern of behavior at one extreme. At times a person must act forcefully, while other instances call for a more mild demeanor. While some situations require one to deal exactingly and inflexibly, others dictate adaptability and the willingness to forego.

The Rambam's derivation of this principle from our verse appears to support the Rav's understanding. God describes Avraham as training his offspring to "keep the way of God, by doing 'tzedaka' and 'mishpat'… " What characterizes this "way of God" is the synthesis between these two ideals: kindness and justice. The first ideal involves giving that which is undeserved, granting compassionate, unearned favors and clemency. "Mishpat" is the attribute of justice, unbending adherence to the strict letter of the law without room for exception. While in the abstract these two ideals contradict one another, they are practically resolved through careful analysis of every situation in determining the most appropriate mode of action. At times we must express our commitment to "tzedaka," while at others we must pursue strict "mishpat."

The way of God taught to us by Avraham is the way of sound reason, clear sensibility, and careful, patient decision-making.

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